His name was Eduardo, and he was from Argentina. I immediately liked him because he looked like a high school friend, also named Ed. We met on the sidewalk by my dorm because he was loudly making fun of bad American Spanish, “Ho-La! Coh-ma eestah?” and I said, “Ay! Terrible!” with, apparently, a good accent, because he was immediately interested in speaking Spanish with me.
We went to the art museum, and I lead a tour of my favorite pieces in my high-school Spanish. I wonder if I was understandable at all or if he was merely delighted to have a pretty girl pointing out the oldest statue in the collection (The Stargazer) and the smallest object (a golden hedgehog bead)?
We ended up in his dorm room, and he played Stairway to Heaven for me on his guitar. I was madly in love. He walked me chastely back to my dorm.
For a week, we met constantly for chats and walks, sent each other emails between classes. Strolling around the art museum lagoon, we paused under a flowering tree, gazing into each other’s eyes, and he kissed me.
He stepped back. “That was your first kiss,” he said, shocked.
I nodded, blushing.
“Oh… wow. I’m glad I didn’t make it a french one.”
I thought this was the beginning of my first great romance, but then, the next time we were in his dorm room, the phone rang and he picked it up, said a few words, and hung up. “That was my other girlfriend from south campus,” he said, joking.
“Oh,” I said, thinking, with sudden shock “He said girlfriend. Am I a girlfriend? Are we dating? Is this dating? Or is this all his way of saying not to get too possessive, that he’s just dating around?”
I don’t know what my face did, but his fell.
He sat down and took my hands. “I can’t do this. I can’t date you if you think I’d have another girlfriend.”
Did I believe he had another girlfriend? I didn’t not believe it. I wanted to be cool, I wanted to keep him. He kissed my forehead and gently let me go.
We never spoke again.
In hindsight, he’d done the right thing. I was far, far too insecure to be a girlfriend.
Also in hindsight, he would have been a far, far better first boyfriend than the guy I ended up giving that title, who took my insecurity and made me his servant for two years.
At the time, I thought I was destined to be alone forever. I’d finally attracted a boy and I’d ruined the relationship before it started by not reacting as expected to a joke.
Oh, poor little freshman me! If I could, I would tell her she would meet her husband four years later, and have a love deep and lasting. Still, I’m grateful to Eduardo, for providing me with a sweet, simple first romance.
